


The Hound of the Baskervilles, or: A Bit of Doggerel

by kurtoons



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Arthur Conan Doyle Canon References, Book: The Hound of the Baskervilles, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7991404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurtoons/pseuds/kurtoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A verse re-telling of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's classic tale of mystery and suspense.  Not exactly a spectral hound; just a bit of doggerel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hound of the Baskervilles, or: A Bit of Doggerel

Sir Charles Baskerville was found  
Near footsteps of a giant hound.  
Apparently he died of fright  
Upon the moor that lonely night.  
What hellish fiend would want to kill  
The kindly Charles Baskerville?  
Did an ancestral demon dog  
Pursue Sir Charles through the fog?  
The path to truth may seem quite rocky;  
But the mystery is most Sherlocky. 

* * * * *

Holmes, when the legend he had heard  
Did not believe a single word.  
"The tale is but a work of fiction  
And fiends beyond my jurisdiction;  
But if the Devil's work may be  
Performed through human agency  
I'll trace the plot, unmask the plotter  
And Scotland Yard will nail the rotter." 

* * * * *

Sir Henry Baskerville has come  
Back to his ancestral home.  
Tailed by foes; without a clue;  
On top of that, he's lost a shoe!  
A note does naught to reassure,  
And warns of straying on the moor.  
Holmes ponders these -- or do you doubt me?  
Tells Watson, "You go on without me." 

* * * * *

While Holmes stays home with other labors,  
Watson checks on Henry's neighbors.  
Barrymore's the creepy butler;  
His wife's sorrow's something subtler.  
Stapelton saves butterflies  
And watches sis with jealous eyes.  
Beryl fears for Henry's body  
(Henry thinks she's quite the hottie)  
Skulls are Mortimer's obsession;  
Frankland's is legal transgression.  
Watson notes each neighbors' quirks,  
While on the moor a convict lurks.  
This case has meat; at least some gristle;  
As Watson notes in each epistle.

* * * * *

Someone signals with a light  
In the manor late at night.  
With a candle, Barrymore  
Sends a message; but what for?  
"I can explain," the butler hisses:  
"The fugitive's kin of my Missus!  
She loves him, tho' he be a felon,  
And wants to save him from his cell in  
Dartmoor, whence he lately fled."  
"Oh, what the hey," Sir Henry said.  
He pities wretched Mrs. B;  
But can he help her? "Well, we'll see."

* * * * *

Someone's watching from the tor,  
The hill that overlooks the moor.  
Could there be unholy doin's  
In those prehistoric ruins?  
Watson, sick of merely loitering  
Ventures for some reconnoitering.  
He finds a lately lived-in hut  
And grimly draws his pistol, but--  
He's checked by a familiar cry:  
"Come right on in, old friend! 'Tis I!"  
Holmes was in the ruins lurking  
Instead of back in London working;  
Better he could thus observe.  
Watson says "You've got some nerve!"  
His saintly patience starts to fissure.  
"I oughta sock you in the kisser!" 

* * * * *

Holmes' reunion is truncated  
By a wailing unabated  
Of a hellish hound a-baying;  
And the man on whom it's preying.  
Holmes and Watson give pursuit;  
And they find a dead galloot!  
"Good Lord!" cries Watson, much appalled;  
"Sir Henry Baskerville's been mauled!"  
"Chill out," says Holmes, "and cease your racket.  
'Tis someone else in Henry's jacket!"  
The coat was one Henry did give  
To Mrs. B for the fugitive;  
An act of kindness gone astray;  
The convict Seldon dead doth lay. 

* * * * *

Before more danger can befall,  
Holmes returns unto the hall.  
Tells Watson: "Stapelton's our man!  
I've guessed the whole nefarious plan!  
Stapelton's a Baskerville  
And shall inherit in the will  
Should any sad and tragic end  
Befall our client and our friend.  
He's the vile and cunning brute  
Who stole Sir Henry's missing boot;  
The stolen footwear clearly meant  
To give the hell-hound Henry's scent.  
The sister Henry wants to date  
In truth is Stapelton's own mate;  
And this most malicious rat is  
Lying 'bout her legal status  
For to lead our love-sick sap  
Into an unromantic trap."  
"You've solved the mystery!" Watson cries.  
Holmes says: "Alas, 'tis but surmise  
On theory based and not on fact;  
We have to catch him in the act!"

* * * * *

Holmes says, "We're going back to London"  
(A move which leaves poor Henry wond'rin')  
He gives Henry a lame excuse;  
But tells Watson 'tis but a ruse  
To catch the villain off his guard;  
"I've summoned friends from Scotland Yard!  
I've laid my plans and set my nets;  
We'll meet Lestrade as evening sets."

That night, Sir Henry, just for fun,  
Has dinner with the Stapletons.  
He comes home late, as Holmes was sure,  
And walks alone upon the moor.  
He hears a growl! A keening wail!  
The hellish hound is on his tail!  
Holmes emerges from the fog  
And shoots the diabolic dog!  
"A spawn of hell this puppy ain't!  
Just dabbed with phosphorescent paint!"  
Stapelton's lost his killer pup  
And realizes the jig is up.  
He flees into the murky fen  
And nevermore is seen again.

The case is solved; Sir Henry saved;  
The villain in a boggy grave.  
Holmes, to Watson's fascination,  
Explains his ratiocination.  
A tale the heart with wonder fills:  
The Hell-Hound of the Baskervilles.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this several years ago on, of all places, a Harry Potter fansite, and posted it over the course of a couple weeks; (the breaks in the verse marking the end of each chunk as I wrote it). The site is no longer in existence, and I've re-posted the poem one or two other places since then. 
> 
> At the time I had just watched a TV version of "Hound" that played up how big a jerk Holmes is in the story, which is probably why I had Watson get pissed at him in my telling. I've made one or two edits; in particular, I was embarrassed about using the word "galloot" twice in the poem. Once is jarring enough, but permissible for comedic effect; but twice starts to look like a lack of imagination. Other than that, the poem is as I originally wrote it.


End file.
